


The First Cut is the Deepest

by princess_schez



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Limp!Dean, Limp!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:32:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princess_schez/pseuds/princess_schez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brutal attacks have been terrorizing a small South Dakota town, and there are dangerous consequences in store for the Winchester's who come to investigate.</p>
<p> <img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during S4. Based on [fraggledragon](http://www.youtube.com/user/fraggledragon)'s wicked animated Supernatural videos, and who was awesome enough to let me write this fic. [Part one](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ielKeIMiRk&feature=plcp), [part two](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-lmsCWZhAdk&feature=plcp), and [part three](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TTuaj39T0z8&feature=plcp) of the videos here. Huge Thanks should go to [](http://gidgetgal9.livejournal.com/profile)[**gidgetgal9**](http://gidgetgal9.livejournal.com/)and [](http://lisa725.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lisa725.livejournal.com/)**lisa725** for having the patience to look this over. Also, I do recommend listening to the music used in the videos while reading this fic. The songs are “Elegant Friction” by X-Ray Dog, “Vegetius” and “Traveling Warriors” by Future World Music and you can find them on YouTube.

Richard Warren plopped down in his favorite chair and turned the TV on. After a long day on the construction site, it was now evening and time for a cold beer and football. He flipped through the stations, hoping his team was on one of the many channels he subscribed to, but they weren't. Instead, one of the sports channels played different clips and highlights from the past week, and though it wasn't what he was hoping for, he watched anyway while drinking his beer.

Twenty minutes later, Richard was asleep in his chair – remote still in one hand, beer in the other – when he was awaken with a start.

Something was rustling in the backyard and had banged into the side of his house. It sounded like something was being dragged across it.

Damn neighbors, he thought angrily, getting up from his seat. He reached for the gun he always kept by his backdoor and carefully checked to make sure it was still loaded in case he was hearing would-be thieves. You just couldn’t be too careful nowadays.

Richard opened the backdoor and pointed his gun out toward the backyard. Stepping outside, he turned from one side to the other, but found nothing out of the ordinary. Dark shadows from the evening hours seemed to be playing tricks on his mind as shapes off in the distance moved and breathed with an almost life-like appearance. A low growling he attributed to a distant motorcycle, traveled over the air.

He had the feeling of unseen eyes watching him, making his skin tingle and crawl. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood up as he scanned around, he was puzzled at not finding anything bizarre. The dead air had a foul smell as Richard slowly walked around, gun loaded and pointed, finger hovering just over the trigger.

Probably just some stupid punk-ass kids, he figured. Before lowering his gun, he checked around the side of his house just to make certain there were no souls around. Nothing. But the sensation of being watched never left. It was slightly unnerving, but he ignored it, grumbling to himself that his imagination must've been playing tricks on him. The blood began to pump loudly in his ears as his heart began to race in fear.

Ready to head back in, he set the gun just inside the door before something bowled him to the ground. Pain erupted on his left side from the impact on the rough concrete ground, his head hurting the most. A splotch of blood stained the concrete from where the impact was made, but the pain – however – would be short lived.

Richard looked up through bleary eyes; the soulless eyes of an unnaturally large black panther were the last thing he would see before it began tearing into his side, his blood squirting in all directions.

-0-

Nicole Andersen lay in bed, the day’s events replaying through her head. It had been a day she wanted to forget.

First off, her new boss was a complete and total ass. Secondly, he sprung on her a massive project on her that he wanted done by the end of the week; one that was almost impossible to finish given the short amount of time she had. And third, if the other two things didn't make her new boss the devil incarnate, add to that he was a sexist pig to boot. She sorely hated people who were like that.

And it was that hate she felt for him that was keeping her awake. And right now, she didn't want to be wide awake. She needed to get to sleep so she could get up early and work on that damn project. If she – by the grace of God – turned it in early, she could rub it in the boss' face as her kind of screw you to him.

Rolling over, she took three deep breaths and closed her eyes, praying that maybe now she would get some shuteye. Before she knew it, weariness finally began to overtake her, and soon, the blissfulness of sleep took over.

-0-

She woke some time later to the loud sounds of trash cans falling down in her driveway.

Probably cats, she grumbled. Nicole rolled to her other side and hoped to fall back asleep when the banging and clashing orchestra of the trashcans started again. Even throwing a pillow over her head did little to block the noise out. If she wanted any sleep, she'd have to go out there and scare off the cats.

It was a small price to pay for getting some peace and quiet for the rest of the night.

Slipping her feet into her favorite ratty old slippers, she threw on a bathrobe, hurried downstairs and out the front door as thoughts of killing the cats that woke her filled her head.

When she got outside, there were no cats to be found. Crossing her yard, she looked down the street both ways in her little cul-de-sac neighborhood; nothing was stirring. It was quiet. Maybe a little too quiet, as there was always something going on to make some noise: a car, TV from a neighbor’s house, crickets, but now, nothing. It was like sound simply refused to exist.

The hairs on her neck and arms stood on end, as a chill went down her spine; the feeling that maybe she wasn’t alone. She looked over her shoulder, expecting to see someone there, but no one was. Maybe because she was just tired and the lack of sleep was making her feel this way.

Picking up the fallen trashcans, she mumbled to herself the audacity the cats had in leaving before she had a chance to kick their furry little asses. Not that she condoned animal cruelty, she was just tired. And the fact that she was now mumbling to herself did nothing to improve her mood.

She turned and was halfway back to her front door when the trashcans fell over once more. Turning back around again, Nicole was ready to scare off the cats once and for all when her heart literally skipped a beat. There was only one cat, but it wasn't just any feline, it looked like a panther. A freakishly large and hulked-out panther on ‘roids, to be accurate. As her eyes traveled over the large animal, she saw its mouth and chest were covered and dripping blood.

Nicole stood, too frightened to move. Coldness swept throughout her body. The cat stood on its back legs and took a step toward her.

That can't be right, she thought. Cats can’t stand or walk on their hind legs.

This had to be a nightmare.

Fear rooted Nicole to the ground. Frightened, she watched the cat take another step toward her. Silently, she prayed that she could move, to run, wake-up, to just get away from the monster before her. Nothing about this situation resembled any kind of normalcy, and it scared the crap out of her as she tried to take a step back. Her legs wobbled and she prayed even harder that she wouldn’t fall down as the large panther inched closer to her.

The front door was so close... maybe she could try and get in before the panther ate her for a hors d'oeuvre. The panther seemed to sense what Nicole was thinking as she made a dash for the door. She was so close.

The last thing she felt was a warm, wet sensation in her right side as her blood splattered and gushed everywhere, saturating herself and everything around her in its deep crimson hues.

This was no nightmare.

This was – _had_ – been painfully real.  



	2. Chapter 2

"There were two reported maulings the other day in the town of Dell Rapids, South Dakota," Sam Winchester said, clicking up two news links on his laptop. "According to the reports, both attacks were on the victims’ properties, and most of their intestines were gone when their bodies were found. Apparently there were other attacks a year ago on people and animals, but those stopped before mysteriously starting back up recently."  
  
"Doesn’t really sound like our sort of thing," Dean replied, lying back on the hard motel mattress, his hands over his eyes. "Just some kind of rabid animal attack. Suburbia hell is full of people who don't immunize Fluffy, and then it attacks the hand that feeds them. If it is near the backwoods, then – well, then it could be any number of things that howl in the night.  
  
Sam looked up from his laptop and watched his brother for a moment. It pained him to see how much Dean had changed since returning from Hell. He seemed listless and tired, yet sleeping didn’t come easily for Dean either. Waking up in terror was so unlike the vibrant brother he knew prior to his time down in the Pit.  
  
Plus there was the increased drinking which Dean didn’t think Sam noticed, but he did. Sam desperately wanted to talk to his brother, to get him to open up about his time in Hell so he wouldn’t have to bear this burden alone. But Dean was stubborn, and whenever Sam tried to get his brother to talk, Dean shut him out. Whether intentional or not, Sam was worried. He didn’t know how much longer Dean could hold on to whatever horrors he’d seen without cracking even more.

  
It was for this reason that Sam was looking for something to get Dean's mind off whatever was bothering him, and hunting seemed to work the best. It was when Dean was out there kicking some supernatural baddie’s ass that he acted like his old self.  
  
"It’s possible it’s just an animal attack, Dean, but it could be a Wendigo or something."  
  
Clicking on the next page in the article, Sam continued, "None of their neighbors heard or saw anything out of the ordinary except for a Mrs. McDaniel, eighty-two, who swore she saw a black bird – possibly a crow – hovering over one of the victim’s homes the day before the attacks. That, and she said it tried to attack her once. How this ties in, I haven’t a clue."  
  
"That’s it?" Dean asked. He finally sat up and looked at Sam. He looked beat, even though he had just recently tried taking a two-hour nap, which proved once again futile. "Old Mrs. McDaniel just sounds like the neighborhood snoop if she was the only one who saw anything. Like I said, it’s probably just a normal animal attack."  
  
"We’ve driven further for less, Dean. And since we’re not that far from South Dakota, maybe we could just swing by and check it out?"  
  
Dean watched his brother for a moment as Sam gave him the look. The look thatmeant Sam was interested in checking out the case, and Dean knew there was no way around it when Sam was determined. Caving, like he always did where his brother was concerned, he gave a small shrug.  
  
"Sure, why not? And while we’re there, Bobby still owes me for that last poker game."  
  
-0-  
  
The sounds of AC/DC’s song, Highway to Hell, blasted through the car speakers as the black Impala roared along a deserted, thickly forested road. Sam glanced over at his brother, wondering if the song would bring up some kind of ghastly memory, but it seemed to have the opposite effect on Dean. He was actually smiling – possibly for the first time in ages – and he seemed cheerful, or at least as cheerful as Dean got.  
  
"So you think we’re dealing with some kind Wendigo?" Dean asked.  
  
"I think so, as the moon phases weren’t right during the attacks for it to be werewolf related. But I'm not sure how the bird fits into the equation, or if it even does," Sam replied, rifling through some loose papers on his lap. "That part doesn’t fit seem to fit, but the whole bird thing could just be a coincidence."  
  
"Or Mrs. McDaniel’s imagination took a trip without leaving the ol’ farm," Dean commented, with a sly grin. "Well, whatever it is, if it’s supernatural, let’s just waste it before it kills anyone else."  
  
-0-  
  
Dell Rapids wasn’t a large town by any means. Thirty-three hundred people called the place home, at least, that was according to the welcoming sign they drove past on the outskirts of town.  
  
"You know Sammy, just once I’d like to investigate something in Vegas for a change," Dean commented as they entered the picturesque town. It looked like it could have been Mayberry's twin.  
  
"Well, until one pops up, I’m afraid it’s the backwoods for us," Sam replied with a grin, enjoying the fact that his brother seemed in a better mood at the moment.  
  
"Did the articles say where the people were ganked?" Dean asked. "Like addresses, or where the bodies were found exactly?"  
  
"Nicole Andersen was found on her front lawn, and Richard Warren was found on his patio. No addresses were given though, but I’m guessing they shouldn’t be too hard to find in this town. Just need to look for a crime scene."  
  
Sam was right. The houses where the deaths took place stood out like sore thumbs against the rest of their respective neighborhoods. The nice and tranquil setting where the victims lived was tarnished by the bright, out-of-place yellow police tape, and the blood-spattered walls did nothing for the décor.  
  
Pulling up in front of what had been Nicole’s house, the two Winchesters got out of the Impala and headed toward the blocked off lawn. Even after the police had cleaned up the crime scene, it still bore the resemblances that something horrific had taken place there. Blood wasn’t easy to clean up, as they learned from their own line of work where losing blood wasn’t just an occupational hazard, it was pretty much a way of life for a hunter.  
  
"This must be Nicole’s house," Dean commented, more to himself than Sam.  
  
His eyes traveled toward a particular spot on the cement walkway forever stained a dark crimson. He stared at it, a wave of panic almost suddenly overcoming him. Dean shut his eyes as the screams of thousands rang inside his head. He couldn't shut it out – shut them out. The panic attack was growing stronger, when Sam placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, snapping Dean from his hellish thoughts.  
  
"You okay?" Sam asked, looking slightly worried.  
  
Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking about what we have to do."  
  
Sam wasn't entirely sure he believed what Dean said, but decided not to push. Dean would come to him in his own time, and until then, he would just have to wait until his brother was ready to open up to him.  
  
"Excuse me, but that's a crime scene. You're not supposed to be in there," a voice called out, coming up from behind them. One of the local police officers - a man in his mid twenties - was walking up toward them, not looking pleased. "We've had a hard enough time keeping the kids out."  
  
"Hello, officer," Dean greeted with his best official voice. "We're here with the FBI to investigate this homicide. I'm Agent Roth, and this here is Agent Halen."  
  
Sam and Dean pulled out official-looking badges from inside their jackets and showed them to the officer. The young man stared at them for a moment before asking, "Why would the FBI be involved in a murder investigation in our little town?"  
  
The younger Winchester glanced at the badge pinned to the shirt of the young man. "Officer Williams, we think this murder – and the murder of Mr. Richard Warren – may be related to a satanic serial killer we're tracking," Sam replied.  
  
He looked slightly alarmed. "You know about Richard, too?" the young police officer asked.  
  
"We're the FBI, we know everything," Dean added with a sardonic grin.  
  
"Then you must know about poor Kevin Greely too."  
  
Sam and Dean quickly shot a look at one another before Sam inquired how this Kevin Greely person fit into the equation.  
  
"He's been missing for about a week now, since before Nicole and Richard died. If there's a serial killer on the loose, he might've gotten Kevin too," the officer replied. "And if you FBI guys are so aware of everything, why didn’t you investigate sooner when all this funky business starting coming up?"  
  
Sam gave the young man a friendly sort of smile, and was about ready to reply, when Dean cut across him. He didn’t like being reprimanded by police officers who knew nothing about the real horrors that existed. Sam could sense trouble afoot and decided to veer the topic away from any potential dangers.  
  
"Would it be possible for us to examine the bodies?" asked Sam. "We might be able to get some kind of evidence off them."  
  
"I'd have to ask my boss, but I don't see why not. Thing is, I don't know how it will help your investigation; the bodies were pretty, uh, mangled. That’s just putting it midly. I – I kinda threw up when I first saw them."  
  
The man looked nauseated just at the thought.  
  
"We can handle it," Dean said confidently.  
  
-0-  
  
The coroner, a chubby man in his sixties, opened up the freezer doors and slid out one tray then another. Hand hovering over one of the zippers, he looked up at Sam and Dean and asked, "You sure you’re ready for this?"  
  
The brothers nodded, preparing themselves for whatever gruesome image awaited their gaze as the medical examiner unzipped the bags.  
  
Sam and Dean had to stop themselves from gagging when they saw the bloody messes inside. There was just no getting use to this part of the job.


	3. Chapter 3

"Well, I think I’ll stay away from ground beef from now on," Dean mumbled, as they drove away from the coroner’s office.  
  
"That means never eating another double bacon cheeseburger again," Sam replied with a wry kind of smile. He knew his brother would never, under any circumstances, give those up. He lived for those artery-clogging, grease-dripping sandwiches.  
  
Dean grew quiet and thought for a moment. "Nah. I guess not."  
  
"I thought so." Sam smirked.  
  
Dean shot him a look before turning his eyes back to the road. It was early evening, the sun was down past the trees now, and they still needed to find a place to sleep for the night. Going to the coroner’s didn’t yield much in results, so the brothers were still at square one in terms of where their investigation was and unsure what they might be facing – supernatural creature or not.  
  
"I think I saw a motel earlier, some ways back," Dean commented, changing the subject. "Tomorrow, we should try and go look around the woods, see if something weird is hanging around out there. We – what the hell is that?"  
  
Sam barely had time to grip the dashboard before Dean swerved the car to avoid hitting something that crossed over the middle of the road. It was large and black, and in the short time it took Dean to get out of the driver’s side door, the thing, whatever it was, was gone. Vanished.  
  
Sam stepped out, armed with a flashlight, aiming at the areas where the car’s lights didn’t shine. Nothing odd, except for the faint sound of a crow’s caw in the distance.  
  
Dean looked over at Sam across the roof of the Impala. "Damn thing got away."  
  
"We’re near the woods, so it was probably just some scared animal," Sam assured him. "Whatever it is seems to be gone now."  
  
Grumbling something about the thing almost causing him to drive his baby into a ditch, the older Winchester got halfway back into the car when he looked ahead. Something seemed to catch his eyes, and his brows furrowed as he scowled more deeply. Sam followed his trail of vision and was not prepared to see something with red, glowing eyes flying straight toward them.  
  
"That doesn’t look like just some scared animal!" Dean yelled.  
  
Quickly Sam reached in the glove compartment for his gun and took aim at the bird. The shot missed and the bird cawed loudly, angrily, swooping in closer this time for a second attack.  
  
With his free hand, Sam swatted at the bird, but thatonly made it angrier. Claws outstretched, it dove at Sam, and made contact with his head as Dean grabbed his sawed off shotgun and tried butting the blasted thing with the handle, not wanting to shoot so close to his brother and careful not to whack him upside the head. The bird dug its claws into Sam’s head, grabbing hair and skin, causing Sam to moan out in pain as he fervently tried to loosen its grip of him.  
  
The thing was unnaturally fast for a bird. And the whole situation would’ve been almost comical had it not involved some supernatural monstrosity.  
  
Dean finally managed to whack the animal one good time with the butt of his shotgun, and the bird released its vice-like grip on Sam. Flying off and watching them angrily with its beady red eyes, Dean gave the bird a certain middle finger.  
  
"There's more where that came from!" he yelled as the bird disappeared into the blood-red remnants of the sunset.  
  
"It's gone now, let's just get outta here," Sam groaned, rubbing the spots on his head where the bird had attacked him.  
  
Dean examined the injury closely, deciding it wasn’t deep enough to warrant any hospital trips. "Some holy water alcohol should be enough to clean that and provide plenty of pain relief," he said, giving Sam a quick pat on the shoulder.  
  
Feeling something wet, Sam touched his wound and looked down at the dark crimson streaks staining his fingers as a couple of blood droplets dripped down his forehead. It had scratched at him enough to draw some blood, but he’d had more serious injuries before and was still alive to talk about them, so a little thing like this didn’t have him worried much. Besides, it felt more superficial than anything, so he was relieved as long as the bird didn’t carry any kind of weird disease.  
  
"I’m fine, Dean, really," he added, noticing his brother’s worried glances at him. He knew Dean’s overprotective instincts were going into overdrive again. "It just scratched me a little."  
  
"Yeah, well, I’m so gonna enjoy killing that little feathered son a bitch, I’ll tell you that," Dean replied, tossing his shotgun back inside the trunk.  
  
Back inside the safety of the Impala once more, Dean asked, "Do you think that was the bird old Mrs. McDaniel saw?"  
  
"Maybe. If that bird – technically, a crow from what I could see of it – is somehow tied to the attacks, then we're definitely dealing with something supernatural here," Sam commented. "But a crow wouldn't have been able to do that kind of injury to those victims."  
  
"Then there might be multiple big bads out there in cahoots, not just that damn bird – err, crow," replied Dean. "Tomorrow, we'll scout for it and kill its sorry ass, but now, let’s find that motel. We can get our equipment out and keep our ears listening to any reports that might come in and help us. And patch you back up."  
  
"I can take care of it myself, Dean."  
  
-0-  
  
Early the following morning, a static-y broadcast came through on the police scanner, waking the brothers from a sound sleep.  
  
"Dude, wake up, it might be important," Sam grumbled, throwing a pillow across the small motel room over to his brother, who was face down in the pillows, snoring away at the forest. Even in his half-asleep consciousness, Sam hated to have to wake his brother up. Dean was finally asleep and didn’t appear to be troubled for once.  
  
"Hey, watch where you aim that," his brother groaned. He was not a morning person at all, so the fact that he was woken did nothing to improve his mood. Through sleepy eyes, he looked down at his watch. Six A.M. These creatures could never attack at a normal time, could they? But he knew he should be used to it. The life of a hunter often involved being sleep deprived….  
  
Rubbing his eyes, Dean slowly finagled his way out of the tangle of sheets and made his way over to join his brother at the tiny kitchen table. Sam turned the volume up as the faint sounds of a highly distressed voice came through more loudly over the interference.  
  
Quietly, they listened to a horrified female officer recount to dispatch the tale of driving into work and discovering a mangled corpse along the side of the road. By the description she gave, it was near the stretch of deserted road the boys drove down the previous night.  
  
It obviously hadn't been a very pleasant discovery.  
  
"Well, it appears we’ve got our work cut out for us today," Dean sighed, getting up and tugging on a pair of jeans.  
  
-0-  
  
After a quick breakfast of stale donuts and coffee that could melt solid metal, the boys found the scene of the murder quickly, as most of the tiny police force of Dell Rapids was out surrounding the location. Pulling off to the side of the road and getting out, Dean and Sam were approached by one of the officers.  
  
"I’d advise you two to back up and head off," the man said with a no-nonsense tone.  
  
As Dean pulled out his FBI badge and showed it to the officer, Sam doing the same, the familiar face of Officer Williams walked over to them, followed by an older looking man, who the brothers’ guessed must’ve been the police chief.  
  
"Let ‘em through," the chief ordered, to which the man stepped aside.  
  
"Agent Halen, Agent Roth, this is Chief Weiss," Williams announced, indicating the older man next to him, and confirming the Winchesters’ suspicions of the man. "Sir, these are the two FBI agents I told you about."  
  
Chief Weiss firmly shook Sam and Dean’s hand. His face was set with a frown, a sign of the grim task they had at hand.  
  
Once greetings had been exchanged and Weiss checked over their fake FBI badges for himself, Dean cut right to the chase. There was another victim dead, and he wanted it to end now.  
  
"So what's going on over here?" Dean inquired, pocketed his badge.  
  
"Officer Kline found an extremely mangled body in the woods," Chief Weiss replied. "We think it’s Kevin Greely, but we'll have to wait until the coroner comes back with an official response."  
  
"You think it’s Mr. Greely?" Sam questioned.  
  
"Follow me," Weiss answered with a sigh.  
  
Leading the Winchesters down past the yellow police tape marking off the crime scene, the chief of police lead them to a small clearing in the woods back a little ways away, where the man’s blood and bits of entrails decorated and shone crimson on the grass in the early sunrise.  
  
It looked as though someone had decided the forest looked better decorated in red.  
  
It was here where a couple of state workers were loading up a black bag on a stretcher, each one looking as though they would lose their breakfast at any moment.  
  
Sam and Dean pulled out their badges again, for the sake of the workers, who anxiously glanced at one another before meeting the chief’s eyes. He nodded solemnly, and with some trepidation, one of the workers unzipped the bag.  
  
It became instantly clear as to why the body couldn’t be ID’d. Sam and Dean quickly looked at one another as the bag was zipped up again and wheeled away. The truly mangled mess had been – if possible – the worst of the three.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been a long day for Officer Cam Williams. He had seen things recently he at one time only believed belonged in horror movies, not real life. The ghastly remains of Nicole Andersen, Richard Warren, and Kevin Greely haunted him every waking moment. Even in sleep he still saw the bloody crime scenes. Those were – simply put – awful ways to die. He could only image what was going through their minds.  
  
It was late in the day when he finally got off from work; now more tired than he could ever been before, both physically and emotionally. Kevin’s body was removed from the woods, and was now residing in the coroner's office waiting for official results.  
  
He wondered how they were going to determine the official cause of death when it was pretty obvious that it would be impossible to do so, given the state of the remains – if you could call them that.  
  
Cam decided to take a walk and have something strong to drink before heading home, hoping to clear his head. Some fresh air and a few beers, he reasoned, should do the trick.   
  
Parting from his fellow comrades, he crossed the street and headed in the direction of the local tavern. It was just a few blocks up, no biggie. He could stand to burn off a few extra calories.  
  
The officer

was halfway to his destination when Cam stopped suddenly. He thought he had heard something. Looking around, the street he was on was vacant, the only sounds coming from a few car horns off in the distance. That was one of the good things about small towns; traffic was almost nonexistent.  
  
Cam turned back around and continued on when he again heard the unmistakable sounds of footsteps behind him. Quickly stealing a look over his shoulder, he never expected to see the figure of a large and strangely muscular black panther behind him.  
  
The feline reared up onto its back legs and snarled at him, showing large, sharp fangs and soulless eyes. There was something darkly wet on its chest that Cam didn’t want to know what it was.  
  
Taking a shaky step backwards, he reached for his gun and took aim, hitting the panther in the chest. But it didn’t seem to faze the animal in the slightest.  
  
Cam watched in horror as he took another unsteady step backwards and leveled off another shot. The bullets seemed to have no effect on the approaching beast; they just seemed to make it angrier.  
  
Out of ammo, and with a cold pit of terror in the bottom of his stomach, his only option left was to run as fast as he could and hope to hell he could outrun it… whatever **it** was.  
  
Without a second thought, Cam turned and ran full speed away from the beast, as fast as his legs would carry. His heart beat loudly in his ears and his breath caught painfully in chest. After running what he felt to be a safe distance away, he dared to stop and catch his breath.  
  
Cam doubled over, hands massaging the stitch in his side. Instincts told him to keep moving, but that short sprint really took it out of him. He was not a sprinter, that was plainly obvious, and not in the best of shape.  
  
Straightening up, he took a chance to look around. The officer couldn’t see anything, other than the friendly-looking woods and he could hear the birds chirping cheerfully in the distance. His fear abated slightly, but his heart still pounded loudly in his ears, the blood pumping painfully in his veins.  
  
A deep gulp of air was what he needed to steady his breathing and the anxiety that was coursing though him.  
  
Maybe it was gone now. He really, really could use that drink now….  
  
Taking a couple more deep breaths, he turned, but not quickly enough to see the large black paw swipe the side of his head before everything went dark.  
  
-0-  
  
The gruesome image of the half-eaten man was very fresh in the brothers’ minds that evening, but none more so than Dean. It reminded him so vividly of the brutality and bloodshed he’d seen - and done himself - in Hell. That bothered him a great deal, but he wasn’t willing to share that info with Sam, not just yet.  
  
"We need to find this damn thing, and we need to find it soon," Dean said, back at their motel room while cleaning his gun.  
  
Making sure the equipment was in good working order was something their dad had always drilled into them from the time they first handled a gun at a very young age. A hunter was only as good as his or her weapons, and they always had to be in good working order or there was a chance you’d wind up mauled, dead, or sometimes both.  
  
"We’ll have to wait and make sure the police have left before we can go and investigate," Sam replied, as he double checked their stock of salt rounds and other ammunition before moving onto their assorted collection of blades and knives. They couldn’t be too careful, so bringing a full arsenal of weapons seemed like the smart thing to do when facing the unknown.  
  
Sam watched Dean for a moment. Aside from Dean’s recent comment, he had been unusually quiet the entire evening, and that bothered Sam. It could only mean that Dean was slipping back into the darkness he tried so desperately to save him from.  
  
-0-  
  
It was nearing midnight when the Winchesters set off, hoping that the coast was clear and they could do a proper investigation without the police hovering around. The sooner they killed whatever it was that was mauling these people, the sooner they could save another innocent being from meeting a horrific end.  
  
Taking the turnoff that lead them down a dirt road, the brothers kept their eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary.  
  
"Scene's clear, at least," Sam commented, noticing how desolate everything in the area was now. It was hard to imagine that this place had been teeming with cops earlier that day.  
  
"It’s a good thing, too. It’d be hard to kill this thing and try and make sure no one else got hurt," Dean replied. "Of course, trying to explain this to them."  
  
He drove a little ways further into the woods when he stopped; the headlights were reflecting off something moving up ahead. Something caused the tree limbs to move and sway back and forth, and before Dean could register what was happening, a dark figure shot out from behind the branches.  
  
The Winchesters watched for a moment before everything went still and was quiet once more.  
  
"If that’s it, then its show time," Dean smirked.   
  
Sam gave his brother the same kind of smirk in return. Dean always got this way whenever they went after some big bad supernatural creature.  
  
Arming themselves with guns, extra ammo, and flashlights, the brothers set out, arms raised. They walked past overgrown tree branches and through dead grass, keeping their eyes and ears alert for any kind of disturbance that wasn't natural. Eventually they heard the soft sounds of snapping twigs that didn’t belong to them, along with faint squelching noises turned the brothers’ attention to just beyond a densely wooded section of the forest.  
  
Sam nodded in the direction of the noises, and Dean understood. Falling into a military-precision line, the Winchesters quietly followed the path of the sounds, coming upon a large black shape, face down, noisily gnawing away at something.  
  
Quickly, it turned around and glared at the brothers; they could see what it had been eating. Bits of human flesh were stuck in its teeth, blood dripping from its mouth. The monster breathed deeply, its bloodied chest and arms heaving with each breath it took.  
  
Of the atrocious things this job often had the brothers bear witness to, this right here – watching this creature scavenge through the person’s gory remains like it was nothing – ranked near the top. The sight was absolutely nauseating.  
  
Not waiting for the proverbial engraved invitation, the brothers fired their weapons at the same time, expecting the bullets to do their job quick and effortlessly. The bullets seemed to deflect on the animal before the brothers hastily loaded another round of ammunition into it. Finally, the panther dropped to the ground.  
  
"Think its dead this time?" Dean asked, watching the still form of the feline.  
  
Neither brother was prepared for the cat to rear back up, looking – if possible – even angrier than before. It snarled and hissed at the brothers, spit mixed with blood flying from its mouth.  
  
"Um, no," Sam answered tentatively.  
  
For a brief moment, the brothers seemed to share the same thought as the cat hungrily licked its lips, watching them, deciding which which of the intruders was going to be its next meal.  
  
Until they could figure out just how to kill the cat-like creature, they had to get the hell out of therelest they wanted to be a kitty treat.  
  
Running, they hurtled back through the dense forest as fast as they could, neither one looking back to see if the thing was following them. They’d only stop to look once they reached the safety of the Impala, so they didn’t see the nasty metamorphosis as a bird with red eyes flew out of the cat’s mouth, its now lifeless body dropping to the ground beside its half eaten meal.   
  
It was not going to let them get away that easily.


	5. Chapter 5

The Impala was truly a sight for sore eyes. The brothers were barely inside the car before Dean hit the gas and threw his weight into turning the steering wheel. The car gave a loud, disgruntled squeal, but Dean maneuvered it around and sped back down the dirt road until they reached the main street. He gave the dashboard an encouraging pat with a free hand. And every so often, he checked the rear-view mirror to make sure they weren’t being followed.  
  
So far, the coast was clear.  
  
"I hate cats."  
  
Sam, eyebrows raised, looked at his brother’s admission. He could feel a small smile begin to pull on his lips, but stopped it quickly before his brother could see.  
  
"It wasn’t a cat, Dean."  
  
"It was cat-like, that’s enough."  
  
Sam thought about it for a moment before replying, "I think it was a panther."  
  
It was now Dean’s turn to raise his eyebrow. "You mean roaming-the-moors type panther?"  
  
"Well, why not?" Sam replied. "Black panthers are the most famous of big cat sightings."  
  
"How come everything we hit it with bounced off?" Dean gave his brother a quick glance before turning his eyes back to the road. That thing should have dropped dead, its body looking like Swiss cheese.  
  
"I’m not so sure, there was a lot of blood," answered Sam.  
  
"I think most of that came from his intestine noodles takeout?" Dean quipped.  
  
Sam nodded. "Can’t be sure it was all the victim’s blood."  
  
"All I know is it was still upright and pissed no matter what we threw at it." Dean sighed, but his voice had a hint of anger in it. "I’ll give Bobby a call."  
  
Pulling out his phone, Dean flipped it open, his eyes shooting to the little icon in the corner of the screen. His phone wasn’t picking up a signal here in the backwoods. Dean sighed, hating whoever Murphy was, and why today was playing out his Law.  
  
Sam looked at Dean inquiringly as the older Winchester pulled the car over to the side of the road, jumped out, and held the phone up in the air, waving it about. Sam got out, watching Dean for a moment before a smirk crossed Dean’s face. Nirvana had been reached.  
  
Before he knew it, he could hear Bobby’s familiar voice drifting over on the phone in between Dean explaining the weird case they were investigating.  
  
"What do you mean you couldn’t kill it? You gone soft boy?" Bobby snapped.  
  
Dean bristled a bit at the comment. Bobby had a peculiar knack for making him feel like an idiot. "We hit it with everything; son of a bitch just kept getting back up."  
  
"Since seals started breaking there’s all kinds of weird out there," Bobby added.  
  
As their conversation continued, the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck started to stand up; he was getting a very uncomfortable feeling standing out here, getting the distinct impression that something was watching him. He turned to look behind him, through the scraggly pitch-black trees, half expecting the monster to leap out without warning. A small shiver went down his back, and his intuition told him that they needed to get moving.  
  
"Dean we need to go."  
  
Dean waved Sam off as Bobby continued, "You boys make your way here, I’ll see what I can find out."  
  
Ending the conversation, the brothers got back into the car and headed off in the direction of Sioux Falls, unaware that a black crow was flying directly over them. They drove in silence for a few minutes before Dean commented again with, "I hate cats," and broke the silence between them.  
  
"So you keep saying –"  
  
But Sam wasn’t able to finish his sentence as a large black mass dropped in front of the car, and Dean slammed on the brakes. The car squealed loudly and Sam put his hands forward, stopping the forward inertia to keep from crashing into the dashboard.  
  
The brothers quickly exchanged looks before Sam reached for the shotgun they kept in the back before hurrying out of the car.  
  
Dean hadn’t even had a chance to pull his own gun out when the massive black panther began attacking him, it’s claws digging deep scratches into the side of his face. A horrible scream of pain escaped from Dean’s mouth as Sam fired off a shot square into the monster’s back. It should've taken the beast down.  
  
"Dean!"  
  
"Sam, run!" he gasped, worried, his thoughts only about protecting his brother as the panther faced Sam, roaring an unnaturally sinister growl.  
  
"Dean!" Sam shouted again, as the panther turned back to Dean and leapt. His brother tried to fight the monster, but it succeeded in knocking him to the ground.  
  
Time seemed to slow down as Sam, horrified, watched his brother’s head coming into contact with the hard pavement, making a sickening sound, and his body going limp. Panic flooded every inch of his body….  
  
Dean’s last image was Sam, and the beast now going after him. He wanted to call out to him, but his mouth just wouldn’t spit out the words. The darkness quickly washed over him as everything before him went black.  
  
Sam quickly glanced at his brother, and that was all the distraction the monster needed to get an advantage over him. Before he could even react, the panther had turned and knocked him to the ground. A sharp pain erupted in the younger Winchester’s head before, he too, became unconscious.  
  
-0-  
  
His face hurt, his head throbbed, and he felt like a Mack truck had just run over him. Slowly, Dean opened his eyes, almost afraid of what carnage he might see before him. Through blurry vision, he searched around for Sam. The last thing he could vaguely remember – it coming in bits of flashes – was that damned beast going after his brother.  
  
He gripped his chest, feeling warm blood gush from open wounds with every beat of his heart, and it stung like hell.  
  
Hell.  
  
He hadn't been in this much pain, seen so much blood, since he was in the Pit.  
  
His head was in a fog, he wasn’t sure how long he’d been out for, but the one thing he instinctively knew was that Sam was missing. His little brotherwasn’t anywhere to be found. A wave of anxiety washed over Dean, numbing only a small portion of the pain he was experiencing.  
  
It was the surge of adrenalin that got him going as he got up, his head pounding excruciatingly with every step he took and blood leaking from between his fingers as he continued to grip his chest. He needed to find Sam, make sure his brother was all right…. That was what really mattered now and the only thing he could truly focus on. But he knew he would need help.  
  
Almost falling weakly into the driver’s seat of the Impala, he stared at the keys in the ignition, his eyes blurring in and out of focus. He needed to concentrate.  
  
Damn it, Dean. Focus! He chided himself. His brother was the only important thing right now. He’d worry about himself later….  
  
Sliding his foot over the gas pedal, he put the car in drive and took off down the road, praying he could stay conscious enough to drive.  
  
-0-  
  
Bobby sat at his kitchen table, waiting for Sam and Dean to arrive. It had been almost two hours since he last talked to them, and arriving from Dell Rapids – just the next town over – shouldn’t have taken this long. Especially with Lead-Foot Lou driving.  
  
Perhaps it was that father-figure instinct taking over, but the feeling of worry began to descend over him like a shadow.  
  
Nah, he scolded himself. Sam and Dean were adults and very capable hunters, so if any unforeseen problems had arisen, they would surely handle it. Yet, he found he still kept looking at his watch every five minutes and watching the door, waiting for a knock that never seemed to come.  
  
Taking another sip of his beer, and rearranging the stack of papers and books he pulled out to help the boys, Bobby took his hat off, running his fingers over his face and sighed. The worry he felt was still strong inside him. Damn, he should quit the estrogen-bitch-fest now while he was ahead, lest he’d want to hear about it from Dean.  
  
He nearly jumped out of his skin when somebody pounded on his front door. Talk about nearly giving someone a heart attack! Getting up from his seat, Bobby hurried over to the door, having half a mind to giving them a good yelling at for not calling to say they were going to be late and making him almost sick with worry.  
  
Throwing open the door, Bobby expected to see both brothers standing there – Dean with his usual smug-ass grin and Sam looking almost embarrassed for not having called. Instead, a pit the size of Texas settled somewhere in his stomach as a bloody and disheveled Dean stood on his porch, gripping the wall to keep from falling over. His clothes were bloodied and torn, and he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open.  
  
"Dean?" Bobby gasped, his anger evaporating quickly as his voice filled with concern now for the young hunter, wondering what in the hell happened to him.  
  
"Bobby," Dean managed to spit out, his words and breath coming in short painful bursts, "it took Sammy."  
  
Blackness clouded what was left of Dean’s vision. He could feel his hand loosening its grip of the wall as he fell forward, and the warmth of Bobby’s arms enclosing around him as he lost consciousness for a second time that night.  
  
"I got you son, I got you."  
  
-0-  
  
The tall, lanky figure of Sam Winchester lay prone on the dirty floor. His breathing was ragged and shallow, yet still unconscious from the attack. And just a few feet away, the shedded skin of a large panther lay discarded in a morbid heap of bloody fur and skin.


	6. Chapter 6

Bobby moved aimlessly from room to room in his house as the day wore on, waiting for Dean to wake up. It had been extremely difficult moving Dean's dead weight after he collapsed on the porch, but the elder hunter managed to get him to the couch where he bandaged up the wounds over Dean’s chest and face, and his right eye was almost swollen shut. The elder Winchester looked like he'd been through a shredder and back again.  
  
Bobby sighed, amazed at how Dean had even managed to drive over from Dell Rapids in his condition and not wind up wrapping his car around a tree. It was a testament to the stubbornness of one Dean Winchester. The thought put a tiny smile on Bobby's face. Hell, the whole family was a bunch of stubborn pains in the asses, but despite this, he still cared for Dean and Sam like sons.  
  
Pulling a chair close to the injured hunter, Bobby kept a close watch, making sure there were no signs of distress or trouble. First sign of one, and he'd drag Dean’s ass off to the hospital. Of course, trying to explain the incident to the doctors without revealing too much info could be interesting.... But so far, Dean was breathing regularly and the bleeding had stopped, so that was a good sign.  
  
The early morning hours slowly passed into afternoon, which eventually passed into evening, and all the while Bobby kept his watch over the young man, hoping that he'd wake up soon.  
  
"We'll find Sam, don't you worry," Bobby sighed, hoping Dean could hear him.  
  
-0-  
  
A sweet and haunting melody filled Sam's ears. It took a great deal of effort just to open his eyes, but when he did, Sam could faintly see an old, beat up music box with a little ballerina figure dancing lopsidedly in the center. He watched the figure spin around and around before closing his eyes, hoping to clear his blurred vision. Feeling slight pressure in his shoulders, Sam tried to move his arms - and turning his head - he saw his arms were tied behind the chair he was in. He gave a disgruntled grunt as he tried yet again to free himself. Nothing.  
  
He continued to struggle against his restraints, hoping to loosen them. "Damn it," he mumbled, his efforts futile.  
  
Sam tried to remember everything that had happened in the past day, but only hazy bits and pieces came to him. He tried to think, to remember, but his head hurt... it was pounding.... Even when he used to have visions, his head didn’t hurt quite as much as this.  
  
A memory suddenly burst forth: Dean.  
  
“Sam, run!”  
  
“Dean!”  
  
He tried to remember more, but the more he pushed himself to remember, the more his head throbbed in agony. Pushing through the pain, slowly, he remembered they had been in the woods, having found another unfortunate victim. There had been a panther, and Dean being knocked over by it – his brother's head coming into contact with the pavement. Sam tried shooting the monster, but it turned on him before going back for Dean.  
  
"No!" he mumbled. Dean... he had to be okay. God, if he wasn't.... He couldn't bear to think about him becoming the monster’s dessert....  
  
This day had officially gone from bad to extremely worse. Giving up, he stopped struggling against his restraints and sighed, praying that Dean was okay.  
  
-0-  
  
There was a large, black panther. Blood dripped from its mouth as it gave an unearthly roar. It glared at him, pure evil in its beady eyes…. Nothing seemed to kill it; it just kept coming back, like that damned Energizer Bunny.  
  
Dean gave a disgruntled groan as the panther disappeared, and cautiously, he opened his eyes – not entirely sure what he would see before him. Light suddenly burst into Dean’s eyes. It hurt like hell.  
  
To his side, Bobby was sitting only a few feet from him, watching him. Normally, he secretly would have hoped that some hot chick would be watching over him, but not now. Now, he was grateful that Bobby was here.  
  
The elder hunter’s face softened as he spoke. “Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty.”  
  
“How long have I been out?” Dean asked, his voice hoarse and his words barely above a whisper. He felt like he just swallowed sandpaper....  
  
“Most of the day, its evening.”  
  
Dean groaned again as something seemed to click inside his head. “Damn it Bobby, where’s Sam?”  
  
“Take it easy, I’ve been doing some research while you were out.”  
  
“Find anything?” Dean’s interest was definitely piqued now. If Bobby had any info on Sam, he’d be out of here in a heartbeat, screwing the consequences all the way.  
  
“Yeah, I reckon I have,” Bobby began, his voice quiet now, as he reached for a stack of papers and books beside him. Inwardly, he gave a worried sighed. Some of the news he had to break to Dean wasn’t good, something he didn’t want to have to burden him with just after waking up.  
  
Holding the stack in his lap, he cleared his throat.  
  
-0-  
  
A faint scraping sound replaced the haunting melody of the music box. Sam looked around the room, finally having managed to work his bonds free as the scraping continued. It was a sound Sam was very familiar with – the sound of a knife being sharpened. He heard it many times before in his line of work.  
  
The sounds may have been familiar, but the things he saw in the room weren’t. Blood stains spattered the walls like something injured had been thrashing around it before dying; various animal skeletons lined the countertops, and long, lethal-looking hooks hung from the ceiling off in the distance.  
  
Sam furrowed his brows as he looked further around, spotting large blades and knives on a back counter, completing the torture chamber look. _What kind of place was this?_ he wondered. Turning back, he spotted a bald man now standing before him. Sam drew in a sharp intake of breath….  
  
The figure sported dark sunglasses despite it being night, and the tan apron he wore was covered in old and fresh blood stains.  
  
“What the hell is this?” Sam asked.  
  
“Your demon friend left you with a nice blood marker. I could have smelled you miles away,” the man said, ignoring Sam’s question entirely.  
  
Sam was confused. His intuition was warning him, and he could feel the adrenaline make his heart beat faster, but he hid his anxiety from the man. Keeping his voice still, he asked, “What do you mean, smelled me?”  
  
“You don’t remember me? This might help.”  
  
Reaching up to remove his glasses, Sam looked in surprise as the man revealed solid black demonic eyes. A faint smile tugged on his lips. Raising his other hand, it slowly turned black with fur as long, vicious claws began growing out of his finger tips as the man transformed into the horrid black panther right before Sam’s eyes.   
  
It let out a loud, ungodly roar….


	7. Chapter 7

It had taken some effort, and a few well chosen words, but Dean finally managed to sit up on Bobby’s couch. It had hurt like hell doing so, but he wanted to make sure he heard every word Bobby had to say, and so far, he didn’t like a thing that the elder hunter was saying. It all sucked on varying degrees of sucky-ness, in his opinion.

“A skin walker?” Dean asked, hating the sound of it each time he thought about it.

Bobby handed Dean an open book, showing him a chapter dedicated to skin walkers. Dean quickly glanced over it, his agitation slowly increasing.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. More than one skin, more than one transformation,” Bobby concluded once Dean had finished reading the page.

Dean was quiet for a moment, thinking it over as he slid his shirt back on. Things just kept going from bad to worse….

“This thing is a human prancing around in animal skins?”

It was highly disturbing to think that the thing that was eating people – the thing that caused those gruesome images to be seared in his brain – was human. He reiterated to himself: Demons he got; people were just downright, bat-shit crazy.

“It’s believed that a person can become an animal by wearing its skin,” Bobby replied.

“What’s this got to do with Sam?”

Bobby sighed, getting to the part he was dreading telling Dean the most. “I have a theory on that, but you ain’t gonna like it.”

A horrible realization set in as soon as Bobby finished. Dean could feel his blood pressure rise to new levels. Everything was spiraling horribly out of control….

“Oh hell no, you think this thing wants to wear him like a freaking prom dress?!”

“That would be my guess.”

“Bobby, we need to find this thing before it kills him!” Dean’s face began to feel flush and warm. 

If that monster so much as laid a hand on his brother, he’d kill it seven different ways before it hit the ground. He’d make damn sure.

“I have a theory about that too,” Bobby added cautiously, quickly noticing Dean’s growing agitation.

Dean wanted to yell “Out with it, Yoda! Time’s wasting away!”, but managed to keep his cool, if only temporarily. Stifling his mouth with a low grunt instead, he bit his lip and watched Bobby attentively.

“Last year,” Bobby commented, holding out an article printed from the computer for Dean to take, “a man called Adam Butler created hell in his local church when he claimed to be possessed by a demon…”

-0- 

One year ago…

Adam Butler just wanted the thing out of him. He never believed that possession – or demons – were real until now… until it happened to him. Black smoke seemed to come out of nowhere as he was walking home one evening from work. He swung madly at it, but little good it did as it assaulted him, forcing into him. 

His screams went unheard in the late hour.

He lost all control after that. Like a puppet, the demon controlled his every move. Damn it, whenever it spoke, it used Adam’s own voice….

But that hadn’t been the worse of it. No, not by a long shot. That came shortly enough when the demon made him kill someone. He may have been a taxidermist by trade, but there were no words to describe it, the way he was forced to watch his own hands slitting that poor woman’s throat and watch as the life drained as quickly from her eyes as the blood from the gaping wound in her neck. The police were baffled as to who could’ve killed her; they had no leads and no suspects….

And its blood lust never abated.

Then he had been forced to witness his own hands carving out the heart of a young teenage runaway on a makeshift altar he had been forced to construct, chanting words in a language he didn’t know.

For weeks, nobody suspected anything odd concerning Adam, just that he seemed more distant than usual, especially for a normally quiet guy. The demon taunted him, tormented him every chance it got, but Adam just couldn’t get away from the thing inside him. It had plans for him….

But one day, a miracle occurred: He had control over his own body again. It felt strange to be able to move his own fingers again, hear his own thoughts clearly inside his own head. Hell, it even felt great to be able to sneeze again. But his euphoria only lasted a short bit. The demon hadn’t left; it was dormant, lying in wait for reasons unknown to Adam. Not wanting to wait until he lost all control again, he ran to the only church in his little town.

Thrusting open the doors, Adam watched the elderly priest stop reciting the daily sermons and looked up from his spot at the holy altar, as did the other worshippers in the church. All eyes were on Adam as the people watched confusedly, each one whispering to the person next to them.

“Please help me!” he yelled, feeling something stirring inside him. It was coming back.... He didn’t have much time.

“There’s a demon inside me! It’s coming back! Please help! It’s made me do awful things! Get it out of me!”

A strong hatred began to grow inside him as he gripped the door tightly, feeling faint and lightheaded from the swarm of emotions. It was too late…

He walked unsteadily down the aisle as the whispers grew louder. “P-please help me!” the demon cried in Adam’s voice, dropping to the floor in front of the altar as Father Cabot and one of the other churchgoers rushed over to help him up. The buzz inside the church grew louder with each passing second….

“It’s… inside… me,” he whispered.

“Son, what’s inside you?” Father Cabot asked, trying to steady the young man.

He looked up at the priest, a growing symphony of resentment and anger boiling over inside him as he struggled to regain control of himself. Seizing his opportunity, he swung his arm around and nailed the priest in the left kneecap with a deftly aimed right hook that took the old man down.

Screams from the congregation filled Adam’s head, sounding like a beautiful harmony. The man who came over to help, took a step backwards, hands raised in a placating manner, but the demon just smiled as he threw a punch at the man’s face, his mouth making a sickening sound as he spun to the ground and spit out blood and broken teeth.

Turning, Adam leaned over the now crippled priest and lifted him up by the frock so their faces were only inches apart. The demon gave the elderly man a twisted grin.

“I told you: there’s a demon inside me, you old bastard.”

The crowd watched in horror – a few pulling out cell phones in the process – as a third man tried to restrain Adam Butler, but to no success. The demon was stronger, picking up the other man like a rag doll and throwing him into the altar with such force that knocked him unconscious. A small trail of blood was left on the spot where the man’s head hit the altar.

People were pushing and shoving, trying to escape the madhouse, but only succeeded in trampling one another. Adam grabbed an unsuspecting young woman from the harried crowd.

“The police will be here any minute!” the woman yelled, trying to escape from the demon’s strong grip.

“Good for them.”

Pushing the woman aside, he tugged at the large crucifix hanging from the ceiling and swung it around, aiming close to the woman when loud shots were fired, burying their way deep inside the cross and barely missing him.

Adam turned, watching as the police drew in closer to him. He dropped the heavy crucifix, it breaking into pieces as Adam smirked at the law enforcement’s pitiful attempt at trying to capture him.

“Well, if it isn’t the pigs here to arrest little ol’ me…”

-0-

“The locals shunned him, then people and animals started going missing. Local zoo lost a black panther, never found it,” Bobby finished as he handed Dean another piece of paper, this one with a story about the missing panther.

“So we have some freak-assed shape shifter dude to gank? Sounds like fun,” Dean said sardonically.

He sighed, but hesitated not a moment longer. They didn’t have time to spare, not if he wanted to kill that son-of-a-bitch. His head gave a painful little twinge, but Dean simply brushed it off. He’d worry about himself once he knew Sam was safe….

It would rue the day he messed with the Winchesters.


	8. Chapter 8

The panther turned back into the form of a man, body twitching, his eyes never leaving Sam. Something about him seemed almost different this time…. He spoke again, but his voice was softer now.

“He used my body, ruined it, turned my eyes black. My body is falling apart, living like an animal just to survive. The things he made me do…”

Sam listened, unsure what to say or do. He felt a small bit of sympathy for the man, knowing that it was only a matter of time until the person inside died. The transformations weren’t killing him; it was the demon burning through his body that was. And, probably the fact that he and his brother unloaded a full round and then some into the beast wasn’t doing any good.

And it was then that Sam realized that the man was trying to replace the body with a new one… his.

God, Dean didn’t even know where he was and some freak was planning on wearing him to the prom. Things were just peachy. Not.

“… waiting for the day I found the marker, a body that I can use for my final transformation. And he sent me you. You skin will be perfect.”

He reached up toward Sam, grabbing the young Winchester’s head. Sam tried to pull away, putting up a tough struggle as a large hypodermic needle grew close, but he was still weakened from having been unconscious and the panther’s earlier attack had taken it out of him. The man was stronger, holding Sam close as the long, silver needle inched closer to his pale skin.

Dean!

It was the last thing Sam thought of, his heartbeat quickening to a painful pounding in his chest, before his eyes rolled back into his head, the world around him going dark again.

-0-

The Impala roared down a dark, moonlight road, speeding away from Bobby’s place at a record pace. Animals be damned if they got in his way, Dean thought angrily to himself. Though he knew he was driving like a madman, none of that mattered now. His only thought was on Sam and trying to find him.

He didn’t know how much time they had…. Or if they had any time left, for that matter.

“I should be driving,” Bobby huffed indignantly, his knuckles slowly turning a pale, peachy white from holding onto the seatbelt so tightly. He always figured he’d die heroically in a battle of good versus evil, and not as a passenger to a suicidal Winchester.

Dean groaned loudly, having already gone over this with the old man. “Bobby, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, you’re stubborn,” he shot back.

“I’m also the faster driver,” Dean retorted.

“Smartass.”

They sat in silence for a moment, their sparring match finally over, as Dean took in how odd it was that Sam wasn’t riding shotgun with him. Something about this whole situation seemed off. Weird, even. It just wasn’t natural for Sam’s freakishly large figure to not be at his side.

Trees sped by in a mass of blackness, only illuminated by the bright moon, as the paved road ahead seemed to continue on forever. Somewhere, somehow, he knew it would lead him to Sam. He just had to keep going, looking for a sign or something. Anything.

Dean sighed, his tone now calmer, but carried a strong hint of worry. “Bobby, what if… I mean, if we get there and… how will we know?” He had a hard time getting the words out; he simply didn’t want to think about the what-if.

Bobby watched Dean for a moment, his face and voice softening as he spoke. “He’s your brother, Dean, you’ll know if it’s him or not.”

“I’ll kill the son of a bitch,” Dean swore loudly, his grip tightening to a choke-hold on the steering wheel, his foot – if possible – leaned more heavily on the accelerator.

He’d do whatever it’d take to get Sam back safely and kill the monster that took him… even if it was the last thing he ever did.

-0-

Sam’s breathing was slow and labored, face slack, his shirtless body lying against a cold, hard table. Strong restraints held his arms in place so if he should awaken, he couldn’t escape. But the demon seriously doubted it would happen…. He gave his intended victim some strong stuff that could have knocked out a horse.

He wouldn’t wake up until… well, ever, since the demon had planned on slicing and dicing him.

Standing beside the unconscious Sam, the bald man slowly and purposefully wiped a long, sharp blade with a dirty towel until it shined. His black eyes glinted maliciously as a smile crossed his lips.

Perfect.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean didn’t know where he was going; just that rescuing Sam was the plan. But the thing that kept nagging on his mind was where to look. He had no clue as to where to even start. They could’ve been looking for a place in Dell Rapids, or some other town dinky town nearby. Or, for all Dean knew, they could’ve been looking in the wrong state period. 

He had been unconscious for a day; the monster could’ve taken Sam anywhere…. It was this – the not knowing – that made Dean all the more anxious.

Bobby, ever vigilant, kept his eyes peeled for something out of the ordinary, something that would lead them to Sam. But the only thing he could see were trees blurring by in the same pattern, over and over again.

Something up in the distance caught his attention. A pillar of smoke was billowing out over the treetops. This wasn’t coming from the direction of Dell Rapids, but more out in the forest. As far as he knew, there weren’t any buildings, cabins or campgrounds in the general vicinity.

“Look, over there,” Bobby said, pointing in the direction of the smoke.

Slamming his foot against the brakes, the car skidded to a shaky stop, with both passengers lunging forward.

“A warning woulda been nice,” Bobby snapped.

Dean didn’t comment. “What did you see?”

“Smoke coming in that direction. Seems odd. Maybe we should check it out?”

“I’m game,” Dean said, shifting his foot from the break petal to the gas. “Is there a road we can follow?”

“Maybe if you’d slow down for a change, I might see one.”

“You know what, Bobby? Bite me.”

Dean didn’t mean to be so testy, but time was a precious commodity right now. Though, he knew Bobby was right. He didn’t want to speed past a road in case it meant finding a path to his brother.

The car took off again, but this time at a more manageable speed. After a few minutes, Dean spotted a dirt road that branched off from the main road. His heart skipped a few beats, but he dared not get his hopes up too much. Things always had a way of turning out horribly for them….

-0-

The demon placed the glistening knife over Sam’s chest, blade tip down. It began to cut through the young man’s flesh, leaving a scarlet trail that began to drip down his sides as the creature wore something that could hardly be described as a smile.

Easy does it.

Soon he would have a new meatsuit. And knowing that it would be made from the flesh of a Winchester, well, that just made it all the more better. The brothers had killed far too many of its kind; now, it was payback. After all, weren’t paybacks a bitch?

He was about to slice even deeper, to deliver the final cut, when the front door to the cabin blew open with a thunderous bang. The demon looked up, a scowl crossing its face. Its black eyes narrowed to slits as he looked to see who had disrupted his work. Whoever it was would pay dearly.

A low growl escaped his mouth.

-0-

The vacant Impala sat parked a fair distance away from the cabin, under the late night sky. It would’ve been almost peaceful and serene if its occupants hadn’t carried loaded weapons out of the trunk and were heading into the possible house of a cannibalistic psycho killer. 

Bobby and Dean were already halfway between the safety of the car and the unknown of the cabin, vengeance fueling ever step they took.

Dean raised a hand and shot a quick look at Bobby before a well placed kick tore open the front door open without any preamble. As was usual operating standards, they ducked out of site as the door swung violently open, its hinges creaking and squealing something awful.

Like fingernails on a chalkboard, it sent a deep, riveting chill down Bobby’s and Dean’s spines.

The older Winchester gave a halfhearted shrug of an apology to Bobby for the loud noise, expecting whoever might live here – human or monster – to show up. After a tense moment, no one came to the door. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

Dean carefully stepped over the doorframe, gun held at the ready with Bobby behind him, his own gun ready for use. In front on them was only a dark, empty void. It took a few seconds before their eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Quietly, Dean stepped into the nothingness; he pointed his gun in every direction should something come out of the shadows. His finger hovered over the trigger as his eyes traveled over the ramshackle dump.

Peeling and faded wallpaper covered the walls and the floor looked as though it hadn’t been cleaned in years. The air was thick and musty, and smelled strangely of something decaying.

Bobby followed close behind, watching the young man’s back. He kept his eyes and ears open for any sounds or signs of trouble…. The place was unnaturally quiet. He could hear his own heart beating loudly in his chest.

Dean went to the right, going down a short hallway and coming upon a closed door. Giving Bobby a silent nod, he twisted the knob, steeling himself for whatever lay ahead. A boarded-up window and something that looked awfully close to actual human skulls decorated the dusty and cobwebbed shelves.

An “It’s not easy being green” poster with a smiling, peace sign-making alien hung crookedly on the walls. Normally, it would have made Dean laugh, being so ridiculous, but he could barely move his lips from the tension that was coursing through him. And the overwhelming smell of stale air almost made him sneeze and cough. He stifled it back, not wanting to alert whoever – if anyone – was here.

Shit. One room down, who knows how many more to go.

Walking out of the room, he crept further into the dank cabin. Shadows continued to play tricks on his eyes, and the hairs on his arm and neck stood up abruptly up. Running a hand over his neck, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching him…. 

A room on the opposite side looked promising…. Opening the door to this one, it only revealed to hold a large, stuffed cheetah in mid-pounce position.

Dean lowered his gun, growling, “What is it with this freak and cats?”

His patience was at an all time low, but at least he now had definite proof they were in the right place, and that gave him a small glimmer of hope. Only the freak they were hunting would live in a place like this, where skulls and stuffed cats were considered normal décor. 

From deep within the shadows, the demon watched the two intruders poking around his personal sanctuary. One of whom he remembered seeing just the other night, remembered bowling him onto the rough concrete of the road, feeling his skin rip underneath his claws and the taste of his blood. He thought he’d finished him for good. But the evidence – no matter how badly damaged he was – stood right before his very eyes.

Black fur grew out from its face, his eyes and pupils turning distinctly feline.

Dean quickly turned on his heels, gun raised, fully expecting something to be behind him. Yet only darkness greeted him. He was about to call out to Bobby when he heard the old man’s voice.

“Dean, in here.” 

The elder hunter’s voice sounded apprehensive and quiet, and that sent a cold chill down Dean’s back. His mouth and throat went dry, the blood pumped loudly in Dean’s ears as he followed the sounds of his friend’s voice to a room just up ahead.

Dean wasn’t sure what to expect, but his heart had now taken residence somewhere in the pit of his stomach as he prepared himself for the worst. His eyes fell upon Sam lying on a table, blood trickling down from his midsection from a thin, straight cut. It looked like a knife had made that cut.

A knife.

Something flashed before his eyes. Screams of the damned erupted inside his head. He was holding a knife. He did this to his brother – he was the one who hurt Sam…. Alastair was hovering beside him, his low voice drawling out a “You did well, Dean-o,” as he placed a clawed hand on his shoulder.

No – wait, he didn’t do anything to Sam…. He was only holding his gun…. He wasn’t in Hell; he was just inside this whack-job skin walker’s house….

Dean shook his head, clearing his vision. Alastair was now gone. For a second, seeing Sam as he was brought him back to the Pit. He wished he didn’t have to remember it…. It was something he’d give anything to forget.

Bobby placed two fingers on Sam’s neck. He could feel a faint pulse, and he let the breath he didn’t know he was holding out.

“He’s alive.”

Dean swallowed hard, his throat feeling like coarse sandpaper. The monster was dead as far as he was concerned. Hurting Sam was only punishable by a slow and painful death, which he was more than willing to deliver to the creature. “Get him dressed and get him out of here.”

He had a mission, and he rarely failed when he set his mind to something.

Bobby has started to lift up Sam when he heard Dean yelling loudly. He looked up. A cat larger than he had ever seen before in his life appeared from the darkness behind Dean. Its eyes resonating hate as its large paws grabbed Sam’s brother roughly by the shoulders, pulling him back into the shadows. 

“Dean!” Bobby yelled.


	10. Chapter 10

Sam felt his body being lifted up by rough, dry hands against his sweaty skin. His midsection stung painfully as he was gently positioned into sitting up, stinging like a thousand tiny knives were being driven into his midsection. His head throbbed painfully from the sedatives.

A groan escaped his mouth, and slowly, cautiously, he opened his eyes – his blurry vision making out the shape of a dark figure before him. Sam tried to rub his eyes, to clear them, wondering why he was still alive if his captor wanted his meat suit.

The figure spoke. “I’m here, son.”

Bobby.

The familiar sound of the older hunter’s voice made Sam’s heart beat quicken. Bobby was here, and instinctively that must’ve meant that Dean was too. The thought gave him hope.

Sam looked at Bobby’s blurry figure, his vision beginning to clear. Slowly, Bobby’s familiar face came into focus, concern and worry etched all over it. He wondered how long he had been out…. Sam wanted to say something, but he was too groggy to form any intelligible words at the moment. Instead, a soft groan escaped from his lips.

Bobby gave Sam a rag to help stem the flow of blood from his wound, when a loud crash and the sounds of muffled groans mixed with something breaking came from the other room. He silently prayed it was Dean that was kicking ass and not the other way around….

He quickly shot a look over at Sam before looking elsewhere in the room. He didn't want to worry the kid; especially given what he'd been through recently...

-0-

The cat flung Dean around the cabin like he was simply a rag doll, his body bouncing from wall to wall, room to room. It was tired of this nuisance; it was going to end him once and for all. 

Dean tried to fight the monster off, but stars kept flashing before his eyes, each impact making it worse. Between his new injuries and the ones he sustained from the panther just yesterday, he fought through the pain and the pounding headache to stay conscious. 

He had to. For Sam’s sake. He just wished he knew where he dropped his gun…

Dean barely had time to react before the panther had picked him up again and threw him into a grimy and old fireplace mantle, his body landing only inches from the fire as an old picture frame shattered on impact and fell into the all-consuming fire.

An explosion of fresh excruciating pain erupted inside Dean's already broken and bloodied body, adding to the cacophony of ringing in his ears. Eyes half closed, he tried to hold out before he could no longer out run the calling darkness.

The heat and the flames of the fire licked dangerously close to Dean's skin as the edges of the photo of the happy man with bright blue eyes and brunette woman burned and coiled like snakes, quickly disintegrated to ash.

He didn't see Bobby half-dragging Sam out the door, or the bloodied rag that his brother was holding to his injured abdomen. He didn't see the burning photo spreading its flames to outside the fireplace, or how the tattered carpet slowly caught fire like dry kindling. There wasn't much he registered, but in his half delirious state – the darkness creeping into the edges of his vision – the creature picked him up without much effort and threw him unceremoniously out the window.

Shards of broken glass rained down around his motionless body like crystalline daggers. Blood dripped from the corners of his mouth as his face bore even more bruises and cuts than before – some of which were bleeding copiously. He almost didn’t look recognizable with his one eye almost swollen shut. His chest pounded painfully, his heart throbbing in irregular beats.

In this condition, a normal person would’ve wished for death to end the pain and suffering, yet normal people weren’t Winchesters, and Winchesters weren’t normal people. Dean’s only thought at the moment wasn’t on his own mortality that was slowly slipping away, but instead, was on Sam, hoping that he and Bobby got out safely.

Gasping for breath, Dean closed his eyes… that stubborn Winchester resolve urging him to hold on…. If only for just a little bit longer.

Weakness is for the faint of heart, Dean. Not us. Not in this line of work.

Don’t ever be weak. It will kill you.

The sounds of his father’s voice filled his head before his eyes closed, drowning everything else out around him, even the faint thumps of his heartbeat.

At that particular moment, he deeply hated his father for dragging him and Sam into this life.

-0-

Sam felt his strength slowly coming back. He leaned back against the rough, cracked stump of a tree as he applied pressure to his wound. It still hurt like hell, but the bleeding was slowing down now. Amid the pain, the realization hit him that if Bobby and Dean hadn’t come when they did, the skin walker would be wearing his flesh right now.

He wanted to go back in there and look for his brother, but Bobby would hear none of it. Not in the condition Sam was in.

Dean was a very capable hunter in his own right, but even he couldn’t take on that oversized cat by himself. Bobby seemed to sense what he was thinking, but hesitated to leave Sam’s side. Sam knew he wasn’t going to convince Bobby otherwise, to let him join in the hunt. Bobby was just as stubborn as they were, even if his intentions were good.

Yet Sam didn’t want to waste any more time. Dean’s life depended on it.

“Bobby I’m fine, go find Dean.” There was an almost desperate, pleading quality to his voice that equally matched the injured puppy-look in his eyes. He winced a bit from the pain.

Figuring Sam was safe for now, the older hunter nodded as he cocked his shotgun and headed out again to look for Dean, following the darkened path back to the cabin.

The hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood up, Bobby swung around, aiming his gun at what he expected to be the monster but proved only to be darkness playing tricks with his eyes. A firm grip pulled him back; he only had time to register the large black paw before his head made contact with the ground.

One down. Now time to finish the other.


	11. Chapter 11

The cat stared down at the broken figure of a man who dared attack him, deciding the best way to finish this annoyance off. It enjoyed the exhilarating feeling it got from ripping and tearing its victims to shreds, feeling the last beats of their hearts in his claws. But he wanted something special for this one…

And tearing the flesh off this intruder would certainly make his day, if not his whole year.

Paws raised, it clawed straight into Dean, his eyes popping open to see the beast straddling him. He’d be damned if he’d end up as kitty chow, and it was this determination that he tried to throw the cat off him.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he wrestled with it, trying to lift the thing off him. The damned thing felt like it weighed a ton.

It freed a paw and tried to scratch at Dean’s face – for perhaps what would’ve been the final blow – when it suddenly stopped, all tension in its body giving way to a dark shadow looming from behind. The creature gave a gurgled moan of pain, a large bloodied blade sticking straight up in its back.

Dean had seen many horrific things in his life as a hunter, but he watched in alarm with his very eyes as fur, skin, and muscle slowly melted off the creature; the now-skeleton head cracking and splitting into two halves. A human head beneath revealed a bald man with black demonic eyes that faded into a bright shade of blue. They held an almost terrified, yet saddened look to them, as with one last gasp of breath he fell to the ground.

Shades of crimson decorated the grass around his prone corpse.

The shadow figure behind the creature-turned man revealed itself to be Sam. He was a welcomed sight in Dean’s bleary vision as their eyes met for the briefest of seconds. 

“Only the blade that made it can kill it.” 

A grumble from a short distance away drew their attention from each other, to see Bobby staggering over to them, hands rubbing his face and head.

“If this lovely moment is over, I’d like to go home now,” Bobby griped.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Dean quipped, his voice still ragged and hoarse.

Despite the situation, it gave Sam a good feeling knowing that Dean was able to crack a joke regardless of looking like he was just employed as the cat’s personal scratching post.

Sam knew Dean needed serious medical attention right away. As always with Dean, he tried to downplay his injuries for Sam’s benefit, even if it never worked. Sam could always sense when his brother was being less than honest with him, and vice versa. It could be a gift and a curse.

Heaving his brother off the ground with Bobby’s help, the three hunters silently took in the sight of the cabin as it slowly reduced to cinders in a matter of minutes. Black smoke filled the night sky as the orange flames licked close to the surrounding forest, illuminating it with an eerie glow as shadows pranced around.

Unbeknownst to them, high above in the tree-tops, a black crow with red, glinting eyes watched them. It cawed softly into the night air, its beady eyes never leaving the three strangers below….

Without waiting for the proverbial engraved invitation, it took some serious effort on the parts of Sam and Bobby to maneuver Dean over and into backseat of the Impala without injuring him any further. Some of his wounds had clotted, but others still bled fresh.

It pained Sam to see his brother so badly wounded, that he forgot about his own – albeit, minor – injuries as he slid into the driver’s side, Bobby taking passenger. Stealing a quick glance at the older hunter, Sam and Bobby silently came to the conclusion that they better prepare a damn good cover story for their injuries while at the hospital….


	12. Chapter 12

Sam’s back hurt from the lack of support the hard, plastic chair offered, and he tried to stretch the painful kink out of his back. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a decent position. Finally, after a minute of not finding that just right spot, he gave up.

Dean – still very weak from his injuries – tried to sit up in his hospital bed, but was so heavily bandaged and wired to different machines, that it was a futile attempt. Sam had to bite his lower lip to keep from laughing at the sight. His older brother looked like the typical Hollywood mummy come to life.

“Dude, not funny,” grumbled Dean, wincing a bit from the pain after his failed attempt for comfort. “How’re you and Bobby doing?”

“We’re both fine. I just needed a couple of stitches, some pain meds and antibiotics, and Bobby only suffered a minor concussion. They released us yesterday.”

“Yesterday? How long have I been in here? I thought it was just yesterday we came in?”

Dean tried to remember the night he was brought into the hospital, but it only came in brief flashes. He vaguely remembered Sam and Bobby helping him into the car, then at some point he lost consciousness during the ride. At one point, he did wake up to see a team of nurses and doctors hovering around him, and Sam’s panic-stricken voice coming from somewhere nearby. Everything after that was hazy.

Sam anxiously rubbed the back of his neck, purposefully looking away from Dean now. He felt a small twinge of pain in his midsection.

“It’s… been a few days. You were pretty badly injured and have been kinda out of it most of the time.”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, the only sound coming from the heart monitor that continued to beep softly into the room. “That was one nasty skin walker.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Yeah. I did some reading up on it when I got out of the hospital, and we weren’t dealing with just any skin walker. Folklore mentions that humans can transform into animals using their skin, and since –”

“Bobby told me that wonderful bedtime story already, Sammy.”

“Oh. Well, folklore around the world has variations on the skin walker legends, especially Native Americans, and they can vary by different tribes. A lot of the beliefs and what we know on skin walkers come from the Navajo tribe, relating to a yee naaldlooshii. That’s like, their version of a witch.”

Dean couldn’t help but smirk at the encyclopedia of weirdness that was sitting next to him, and who he called his brother. Sam kept rattling on different facts about the yee naaldlooshii, how they’re mostly men, and how one of the forms they normally take is that of a crow. Dean thought of the red-eyed crow that followed them around...

“Some Native celebrations – even those of darker intent – involve a ceremonial item, or in this case, weapon.” Sam continued, “And you know in our line of work that there are certain times when a weapon used against a person has to be the one used against the attacker. I took a chance and hoped the knife worked.”

Dean glared up at Sam. “You took a chance? Dude, I was almost fucking Purina kitty chow back there and you took a chance?!”

The heart monitor started beeping more frequently; a sign of Dean’s growing agitation. 

Sam tried to placate his brother; the last thing he needed was to add a stroke to his list of ailments.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, and you’re lucky. Otherwise I’d be coming back to haunt your sorry ass.”

The brothers remained quiet for a few minutes, the beeping from the heart monitor finally going back to its normal, calmer rhythm as Dean sighed.

“So,” he said, his voice calmer now, “whoever was riding his skin was a former witch now turned demon?” He suddenly thought of the petite brunette nightmare that stayed with them like a particularly nasty case of heartburn that just wouldn’t go away.

Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Quite possible. We’ll never know, I guess.” 

“That’s just great,” he muttered, leaning back further into his pillows. He didn’t want to think of the possibility of there being more like that monster out there. What they normally had to deal with was bad enough; this one was a particularly bad case in of itself.

“And what was with the damned thing eating people?” he added as an afterthought, feeling slight queasy at the thought.

Sam shrugged again. “I don’t know. Maybe just animal instincts? Or the demon itself?”

At that moment, a pretty dark haired doctor walked into the room, reading a chart in her hands. She looked up and smiled at the brothers before locking eyes on Dean.

“You’re looking good today, Mr. Seagal.”

Dean shot a quick look over at Sam, before turning his attention back to the pretty young doctor. He tried to give her his best smile, but the effect was totally lost.

“I’ve looked better, believe me,” Dean sighed, with a slightly defeated tone to his voice.

The doctor laughed. “Well, you’re doing a lot better than when you first came in. At this rate, you’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

She gave Dean a grin, and Sam couldn’t help but roll his eyes and chuckle quietly to himself. His brother always had that ability to turn women into putty in his hands.

After writing some things down in her chart, she asked Dean how he was feeling, checked his vitals, and gave him another does of medication before leaving the room.

“Seagal?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow at his brother. “Please tell me you didn’t–”

“What?” Sam asked, looking innocent, but his eyes twinkled with a mischievous spark. He got up from his chair and patted Dean gently on the head.

“Let’s just say you won’t be making any bad, D-rated movies for a while.”

“Bitch! You are so going to pay for that!”

The heart rate monitor started beeping loudly again as Dean glared at his brother.

Sam simply smirked back. “Jerk. Now get some rest, or I’ll have to get the pretty doctor back in here.”

The End.


End file.
